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Like the greatest virtue and the worst dogs, the fiercest hatred is silent.
Jean Paul
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Jean Paul
Age: 62 †
Born: 1763
Born: March 21
Died: 1825
Died: November 14
Novelist
Poet
Writer
Johann Paul Friedrich Richter
Jean Paul Richter
Zhen Polʹ Friderik Rikhter
Jean Paul
Johann Paul Richter
Worst
War
Fiercest
Like
Dogs
Hatred
Dog
Silent
Greatest
Virtue
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In women everything is heart, even the head.
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Music is moonlight in the gloomy night of life.
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Because the heart beats under a covering of hair, of fur, feathers, or wings, it is, for that reason, to be of no account?
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Poverty is the only load which is the heavier the more loved ones there are to assist in bearing it.
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Every friend is to the other a sun, and a sunflower also. He attracts and follows.
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Nations and men are only the best when they are the gladdest, and deserve heaven when they enjoy it.
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For sleep, riches and health to be truly enjoyed and gratefully appreciated, they must be interrupted so the person can see that not having them is not as good as having them.
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The heart needs not for its heaven much space, nor many stars therein, if only the star of love has arisen.
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A scholar knows no boredom.
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Humanity is never so beautiful as when praying for forgiveness, or else forgiving another.
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It is easier and handier for men to flatter than to praise.
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Remembrances last longer than present realities.
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Recollection is the only paradise from which we cannot be turned out.
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We learn our virtues from our friends who love us our faults from the enemy who hates us. We cannot easily discover our real character from a friend. He is a mirror, on which the warmth of our breath impedes the clearness of the reflection.
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Beauty attracts us men but if, like an armed magnet it is pointed, beside, with gold and silver, it attracts with tenfold power.
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Ah! The seasons of love roll not backward but onward, downward forever.
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Joy descends gently upon us like the evening dew, and does not patter down like a hailstorm.
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With so many thousand joys, is it not black ingratitude to call the world a place of sorrow and torment?
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Romanticism is beauty without bounds-the beautiful infinite.
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As a man grows older it is harder and harder to frighten him.
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